A Question Mark
There is a hinge
of bone
where your chin joins
your cheek.
I like to stroke it
in the flicker
of a local movie;
I like to take
your laborer;s hand
when you are
cautiously-
(O proof of love!)-
driving my car.
You bring me gifts
of food;
I write you
poems of blood.
Your scars are vertical;
mine are horizontal.
You lost your spleen;
I loosed a daughter
on the world.
Your hinge of bone
tells jokes;
while mine chants
poems.
An unlikely pair,
though which pair
is ever likely?
When I cannot
look at your face,
I look
at your cock-
a question mark
asking the sky
how can
heaven
be fucked?
poem by Erica Jong
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Related quotes
Dream Miracles God Speaks To Soul Mine
I gave God two more poems today
two perfectly harmonic resonating poems
two poems dream mind writ
two poems never to write out
two poems never to public post
the first fruits the best
I vowed to give God
in awaiting dreams I gift
poems to God is gifted best poems
God smiles I watch heaven’s eyes
across cosmos God’s love is given
across created God space prayer given
love gifted given God’s love shines
dream miracles God speaks to soul mine
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I Had So Many Other Poems To Write
I HAD SO MANY OTHER POEMS TO WRITE
I had so many other poems to write
So dark and deep in me
But suddenly
A small ailment came
And I could no longer be.
The world goes on
There are other poems
As good or better than mine
There are trillions and trillions of other things
The world won't vanish without mine
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Four little giraffes
Four little giraffes
Stare at a broken hinge
A broken hinge in the door
They sat and pondered
How were they going to fix that hinge?
That broken hinge which was in the door
They were no bob the builder
But surely they could fix it just as well
They hammered and they wrenched
All day and all night long
And with hooves wiping sweat off from brows
And purple tongues slurping up some water by the gallon
Soon that broken hinge was no longer a broken hinge
Yes indeed
They surely weren’t bob the builder
But they sure were one thing
Great hooves for feet, purple tongued hard workers
poem by Storm Pedersen
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Not All Poems Are Confessions
NOT ALL POEMS ARE CONFESSIONS
Not all poems are confessions,
But mine often are-
I write to understand and justify myself
And to help myself know
What to do next-
The writing itself is often the action that helps
Not all poems are confessions
And not all poems are therapy
And not all poems are prayer
But mine often are.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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I Have Read Many Poems I Know I Never Could Have Written
I have read many poems I know I never could have written
Poems whose language was far richer and more remarkable than mine
Poems that saw as I cannot see and sounded as I cannot sound
Poems of magnificent music and many hidden meanings
I have read many poems greater than those I could ever write
And have been humbled and saddened and inspired by them
Out there somewhere else
There have been real poets
And I in my own little lines
Love and respect them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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An Alliance
This is the weird of a world-old folk,
That not till the last link breaks,
Not till the night is blackest,
The blood of Hengist wakes.
When the sun is black in heaven,
The moon as blood above,
And the earth is full of hatred,
This people tells its love.
In change, eclipse, and peril,
Under the whole world's scorn,
By blood and death and darkness
The Saxon peace is sworn;
That all our fruit be gathered,
And all our race take hands,
And the sea be a Saxon river
That runs through Saxon lands.
Lo! not in vain we bore him;
Behold it! not in vain,
Four centuries' dooms of torture
Choked in the throat of Spain,
Ere priest or tyrant triumph -
We know how well - we know -
Bone of that bone can whiten,
Blood of that blood can flow.
Deep grows the hate of kindred,
Its roots take hold on hell;
No peace or praise can heal it,
But a stranger heals it well.
Seas shall be red as sunsets,
And kings' bones float as foam,
And heaven be dark with vultures,
The night our son comes home.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Pair Of Eyes
A pair of eyes constitutes the mass of art,
A pair of eyes, tells the throb of heart.
A pair of eyes, is a cool forest pond.
A pair of eyes, is sorcerer's wand.
A pair of eyes, mirrors the soul and mind.
A pair of eyes, thru which man we find.
A pair of eyes, sees all our deeds,
God's eyes are those, one's conscience needs.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Give The Dog A Bone
give the dog a bone
let him come into your home
watch him beg and whimper
for some food and some clothes
give him a job and pay him
in bones
give the dog a bone
because he will survive alone
give the dog a bone
you can pay him less
come now put your morals to the test
give him seven give him nine
but never more than ten
because the rest is mine
give the dog a bone
let him work and then send him home
he'll come back but his cover was blown
misers prevail running this slave trail
give the dog a bone
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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I don't write poems
I don't write poems,
I drink them like wine,
I become tipsy
with each coming line.
I don't write poems,
I breathe them like air,
I become so happy
when each one I share.
I don't write poems,
I live with them;
they prolong my years,
they are as true as I am.
I don't write poems,
I weave into verses
sadness, joy, tears,
prayers, love, curses…
My poems talk and sing,
Sense of living they bring.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
26th of April,2012
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Oh The Poems And More Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE MORE POEMS
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems I am writing all the time
God has given me this gift
And when I wait in the right way
And when I listen to myself properly
The poems come in ways I could never have thought of or imagined before
They come as mysteries as gifts as surprises
As wonderful to me as perhaps to you their possible readers
Oh the poems and the more poems
The wonderful poems God has given me
And the light of this day and so many other days, also.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Nobody But You
I really care a lot
Although I look like I do not
Since I was shot
Theres nobody but you
I know I look blase (note: blase - e with acute)
Party andys what the papers say
At dinner Im the one who pays
For a nobody like you
Nobody but you
A nobody like you
Since I got shot
Theres nobody but you
Wont you decorate my house
Ill sit there quiet as a mouse
You know me I like to look a lot
At nobody but you
Ill hold your hand and slap my face
Ill tickle you to your disgrace
Wont you put me in my proper place
A nobody like you
Sundays I pray a lot
Id like to wind you up and paint your clock
I want to be what I am not
For a nobody like you
The bullet split my spleen and lung
The doctors said I was gone
Inside Ive got some shattered bone
For nobody but you
Nobody but you
A nobody like you
Shattered bone
For nobody but you
Im still not sure I didnt die
And if Im dreaming I still have bad pains inside
I know Ill never be a bride
To nobody like you
I wish I had a stronger chin
My skin was good, my nose was thin
This is no movie Id ask to be in
With a nobody like you
Nobody like you
A nobody like you
All my life
Its been nobodies like you
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Plighted
Mine to the core of the heart, my beauty!
Mine, all mine, and for love, not duty:
Love given willingly, full and free,
Love for love's sake, - as mine to thee.
Duty's a slave that keeps the keys,
But Love, the master, goes in and out
Of his goodly chambers with song and shout,
Just as he please, - just as he please.
Mine, from the dear head's crown, brown-golden,
To the silken foot that's scarce beholden;
Give to a few friends hand or smile,
Like a generous lady, now and awhile,
But the sanctuary heart, that none dare win,
Keep holiest of holiest evermore;
The crowd in the aisles may watch the door,
The high-priest only enters in.
Mine, my own, without doubts or terrors,
With all thy goodnesses, all thy errors,
Unto me and to me alone revealed,
'A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.'
Many may praise thee, - praise mine as thine,
Many may love thee, - I'll love them too;
But thy heart of hearts, pure, faithful, and true,
Must be mine, mine wholly, and only mine.
Mine! - God, I thank Thee that Thou hast given
Something all mine on this side heaven:
Something as much myself to be
As this my soul which I lift to Thee:
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,
Life of my life, whom Thou dost make
Two to the world for the world's work's sake, -
But each unto each, as in Thy sight, one.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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To Avoid Rejection
take a part of your
pelvic bone
close your eyes
let someone take
the flesh
and bone to bone
of your own bone
let it grow
smoothly
to get rid of the pain
and start anew
bone to bone
of my contention
following yours
nothing
opposing
blood following
the flow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Avoiding A Rejection
take a part of your
pelvic bone
close your eyes
let someone take
the flesh
and bone to bone
of your own bone
let it grow
smoothly
to get rid of the pain
and start anew
bone to bone
of my contention
following yours
nothing
opposing
blood following
the flow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Given The Dog A Bone
She take you down easy
Going down to her knees
Going down to the devil
Down down to ninety degrees
Oh, shes blowing me crazy
Till my ammunition is dry
Oh, shes using her head again
Shes using her head
Oh, shes using her head again
Chorus:
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Yeow
Shes no mona lisa
No, shes no playboy star
But shell send you to heaven
Then explode you to mars
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head again
Shes using her head
Using her head again
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head
Chorus
Lets go
Oooh, oh, oh, oh
She got the power of union
Yeah, she only hits when its hot
And if she likes what youre doing
Yeah, shell give you alot
(given everything she got)
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a given a dog
Givin a dog
Givin a dog
Ooooh
Im just a givin a dog a bone
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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We Need New Poems
WE NEED NEW POEMS
We need new Poems-
So many great Poems
Have already been written.
Perhaps the Greatest poems
Have already been written.
But we need new poems.
We need our Poems
We need the poems only we can write
We need the poems we must write.
We need new poems
My poems
Your poems
Our poems.
We need new poems.
Let us write them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I don't
Many people write
For their true emotions to unravel
Out of depression, angst, spite
But I can’t
I don’t write poems when I’m sad
They write from their experiences
When he left me
When they died
Bringing tears, causing cries
But I can’t
I don’t write when I’m sad
The tears dutifully stain my cheek
And roll on and on
Through and through
Down
Down
Down
But I can’t
And I don’t write poems when I’m sad
And all the anger and sadness
Thrust inside of me
Just bursting to get out
Screaming
Pleading
Begging to get out
But they can’t
Because I don’t write poems when I’m sad
And I don’t know what to do
How to express my pain
And woe, and the feeling
It drains me, and it shows
But there’s nothing I can do
Because I don’t ever write poetry when I’m sad
These Little Poems Are All I Can Write Now
THESE LITTLE POEMS ARE ALL I CAN WRITE NOW
These little poems are all I can write now
The rest is gone.
But these poems too question themselves
Doubt their own value and reality.
After such a long road
I am still uncertain.
Nothing I have done
Resonates with recognition of its worth.
Old and alone still
I write on.
Sisyphus had a rock
Which grew so heavy with the years
He could barely begin
To roll it up the hill again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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